Market Flowers
by beatrix-franklin
Summary: A little bit of melancholy about the Turners moving house.


Flowers adorned the living room windowsill in the living room of 24 Bermondsey Lane for as long as Timothy could remember. It was a tradition upheld by his mother; Marianne firmly believed a house was not a home unless the scent of flowers filled the room. They varied from week to week, lilies, roses, carnations, freesias, no bunch of flowers ever the same. There was not a time in his life in which Timothy could remember there not being flowers sitting in the windowsill. On the days in which he would accompany his mother to the market she would often let him choose which flowers would brighten the living room that week and would opt for his choice no matter if she favoured the flowers or not. Days at the market fast became Tim's favourite days and remained his fondest memory. Over the years, Tim came to learn that his mother's favourite colour was purple and often chose flowers of that colour.

In the days following Marianne's death the last bunch of flowers she had brought began to wilt and wither, as if they cruelly mirroring her final days. When the last petal finally fell, Tim decided he could bear the sight of the dwindling flowers no more. He ran to market, the last of his pocket money in his pocket and tear stains down his face and brought the first bunch of purple flowers he could lay his hands on. Patrick caught him trying to fill the vase with water when he got home, Tim barely tall enough to reach the tap. He simply took the vase from his small hands and got to work putting the flowers where they belonged. He silently vowed to himself to never let the vase be empty again. A petal from the bunch of flowers Timothy brought that day remained pressed in the back of his diary ever since. From that day the flowers became the only light to pierce through the darkest of days. Both Patrick and Timothy clung to the hope they represented. They remained in the flat as concrete as Marianne's memory.

During the early days of her engagement to Patrick, Shelagh noticed how either Patrick or Timothy would replace the flowers in the living room every week without fail. Admittedly she found it a little odd that no matter how unkempt the rest of the flat, or even they themselves were, fresh flowers remained. But she knew there was a silent understanding between father and son and never once questioned it. It wasn't until a week into their marriage, when Patrick first brought Shelagh a bunch of pink roses on his way home from work that he explained. He'd looked rather sheepishly at her, his mouth curving up at the way she blushed when he handed her flowers, then quietly requested that she place them anywhere except the window in the living room. Part of Patrick felt guilty for such a request, the flat was now Shelagh's home too and he felt she should be able place flowers wherever she wanted. Shelagh saw the guilt flicker in his eyes as he had said the words but she understood. She simply took the flowers from Patrick and placed them in a vase on the mantelpiece placing a kiss on Patrick lips when finished. This kiss was soft and gentle but said more than words could in that moment. It told him that he need not feel guilt for keeping the memory of Marianne alive, it told him that she would love him and Timothy for as long as her heart was beating and it told him that she completely understood his request. A pink petal had since lay pressed beside the purple one in the back of Patrick's diary.

Throughout their marriage, Patrick often brought Shelagh flowers, whether it was because she needed cheering up, because she'd had a long day at work or simply because he wanted to see the blush on his wife's face when he surprised her. She'd become almost inventive with their placement, the kitchen windowsill, the mantelpiece, the bedroom window. Patrick joked that she'd run out of new places to put them. He did smile to himself as he walked into the bathroom the day after he'd made the joke, for there sat the most recent bunch of flowers he'd brought Shelagh. But the unspoken agreement remained; fresh flowers would always sit in the living room window. Shelagh even replaced them herself in the busier weeks for Patrick and Timothy when she feared they wouldn't have time to do so themselves.

Timothy felt as if he had been winded the moment he noticed the flowers in the living room had gone. Shelagh had tried to ensure that the vase in which they stood would be one of the last things to be packed, even in the chaos of moving she wanted the house to feel like home. But on their final day in the flat the vase had made its way to a box, safely wrapped up with the rest of their possessions. His father reminded him that the memories didn't belong the flat, but to them. Yet still, he couldn't stop the tear that slipped from his eye at the sight of the empty windowsill, the first time it had been so since that fateful day. This was how Shelagh found him, staring at the empty space. She slipped an arm round his shoulder and didn't flinch as the sob he'd been suppressing finally escaped him. She simply pulled him closer to him and allowed him to bury his face in her the crook of her shoulder until his cries subsided. In that moment she needed to allow him to be the small boy that was still within him, the small boy that still felt the aching loss of his mummy.

After the initial mishap of lost furniture, the new Turner residence began to fill with their belongings and the house finally began to feel like a home. The home in which the Turner family would grow, where they'd thrive. It was the place where their unborn child would be welcomed into the world and take his first steps, the place where Angela would be dressed in her very first school uniform and the place in which Timothy would return to after each term at university, where he had gone to follow in his father's footsteps.

As Shelagh was putting up the pictures in the living room, the last of the finishing touches to make the new place feel truly homely, she heard the soft footsteps of Tim as he returned from school. He greeted her with his customary kiss on the cheek and took a moment to survey the room.

"It's finally starting to feel like home," he stated watching Shelagh's lips twitch into a small proud smile as he spoke. He was slightly surprised when she didn't respond but quietly slipped out the room. When she returned, he felt his eyes involuntary fill with tears as she placed a bouquet of purple hyacinths on the living room windowsill. She took his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Now it feels like home."


End file.
